


Attempting

by mickie



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Canon-Typical Behavior, Jim Has a Thing for Sherlock's Hair, Jim Hates Not Knowing Things, M/M, Poison, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-07 22:06:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20470838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mickie/pseuds/mickie
Summary: Prior to the rooftop Jim tries to outmaneuver Sherlock and Mycroft while trying to determine how he feels about Sherlock.This story is now complete.





	1. Everyone Has a Plan

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fabricdragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabricdragon/gifts).

> Please read the tags. More will be added and there will be triggers.
> 
> This is my August entry for the Sherlock Challenge on Tumblr. The prompt is **hair**. Fabricdragon gave me the extra prompt of coconut oil.

**Everyone Has a Plan**

“Sebastian!” Jim yelled while staring at the computer screen. “I know he’s planning something.” His cousin looked up from cleaning his L115A3 rifle but didn’t say anything. “_What_ is he planning?” Jim almost shrieked. 

“He’s probably planning quite a few things,” Sebastian said flatly. 

Jim ignored him. “The Iceman is up to something. I know he is. And look at Sherlock’s gorgeous hair in _this_ picture.” He switched tabs and pointed to a picture of Sherlock taken by one of his hidden cameras at 221B.

“I bet the bloke’s always plotting something, even when he’s dropping a bomb,” Sebastian noted and then went back to his rifle. 

“True. But did you see Sherlock?”

“No,” Seb muttered. “And I’ll point out that you’re playing with his baby brother. What do you expect?”

“Certainly not _this_!” Jim threw his hands up with frustration.

“What, exactly, is this?” Sebastian queried.

“Nothing.”

Sebastian paused and looked at Jim again. “Nothing?”

“Yes, nothing! Nothing, nothing, nothing,” Jim growled. “I mean, _obviously_, he’s not going to let me blackmail Sherly into jumping off of St. Barts but usually he’s got some agents assigned to me or he’s having one of our mutual assets prying and poking about.”

“Obviously,” Seb agreed although he didn’t seem convinced.

“What is he planning?” Jim glared at him but then switched tabs and again started looking at pages and pages of numbers. “I hate it when I’m missing something.”

“Maybe he’s figured out that you’re _not_ really trying to have the man jump off the building.”

“I know. I just want to run my fingers through those curls.” 

“Focus, Jimmy.”

“Shut up.” 

“I can’t sit here, do nothing, and have you talk it out at me unless you, say, actually talk it out at me.”

“The Iceman shouldn’t know that though.”

“Of course not,” Seb agreed congenially. 

“My set-up is brilliant. There’s no way he could have seen through it. Sherly maybe.”

“Big bro is smarter than Sherlock.”

“Bite your tongue, Sebastian! My Sherlock is brilliant.”

Sebastian set the gun down and took a sip of his tea. “It is, he is, whatever, you certainly are, but I don’t see why you don’t just text Sherlock and ask him out for coffee.”

Jim growled at him. “No!” he exclaimed. Sebastian simply didn’t understand the complexity of the situation.

“Then you can simply break up with him,” Sebastian continued. “You know, like normal people.” Jim snorted. “Yeah, I know how you feel about being _normal_ but don’t you think this is a bit excessive.”

“No. Remember, interrogation?” Jim said and frowned. Even saying that word brought back horrid memories of how Sherlock had turned him over to his brother and he’d been tortured under the auspices of Queen and Crown. Jim knew that it had been mostly because Mycroft hadn’t approved of Jim and Sherlock’s blossoming relationship and then Sherlock had chosen John over him. Bastard.

“Yes, I remember,” Seb growled, his voice dropped an octave. “Can I just shoot him then? That would solve everything.”

“No.”

“And his brother? That would _really_ fix everything.”

“Yes!” Jim said enthusiastically. Having Mycroft Holmes shot was a lovely idea. He took a sip of his tea and let common sense prevail. “No, no, that won’t do at all. The Iceman does have his uses.” He closed his eyes for a moment and reviewed all the facts at his disposal.

“Jim.”

“What am I missing, Sebastian?” Jim yelled, opening his eyes and staring at the screen. 

“Well, let’s go over it _once more_,” Seb suggested. “He’s going to have snipers, we know that. And we’ve got those positions covered.”

“Yes.”

“And we went over all possible placements for agents and tactical units at St. Barts.”

“Maybe,” Jim mused. “Mycroft’s smart though.”

“And you’re smarter.”

“I should just ask Sherlock out for tea and pudding and see if he wants to make up.” Sebastian groaned. “It would solve all my problems,” Jim continued. “Except for whatever Mycroft is going to pull.”

“Considering you’ve destroyed Sherlock’s reputation… I don’t think either one of the wankers is just going to be sitting back and enjoying a spot of tea or a round of cricket waiting to let you win.”

“True! Wait until you see what’s coming to primetime next,” Jim said gleefully. “He’s really made so many enemies at the Yard. A few things here, the entitlement there, the arrogance, the attitude, the drugs use… easy-peasy. Even without his gorgeous hair.”

Sebastian frowned with confusion. “Right, uh, maybe you should decide if you’re trying to break up with him or make up and start officially dating? From what I’ve seen you and his Mum have a lot in common.”

“I’m trying to figure out what I want.”

“Always good to do that first!”

“But his gorgeous hair. Look at that hair!” Jim brought up another picture of Sherlock seemingly sneering at the camera. “He was looking at his idiotic client for this pic, not me.”

“If you say so,” Sebastian said flatly.

“No one seems to know what’s going on,” Jim grumbled.

“But, yeah, what could you be missing? I think we’ve got it all covered.”

“Sherlock has been acting the same as usual at the Yard. The cameras haven’t shown anything unusual. And my contacts haven’t reported a single damn thing that’s out of the ordinary besides it being Sherlock. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch.”

“I’ll look at the aerial maps again tomorrow after I get back,” Seb said.

“Molly!” Jim exclaimed and smiled. Seb had a date with Molly and she might know. She spent a lot of time with Sherlock and he was always much more unguarded around her because he didn’t appreciate her observational skills. “I’ll ask her. She’ll know.”

“Leave my girlfriend out of it.”

“She might have a clue that she hasn’t yet realized is very important.”

“Leave my girlfriend out of it,” Seb repeated.

“Hush,” Jim growled playfully. “You know I absolutely adore Molly.” After the events at the pool, Jim had broken up with Molly and introduced her to Sebastian. The two had hit it off splendidly, except for Seb’s dislike of Glee and her dislike of guns, and were officially dating, unbeknownst to Sherlock or anyone else at the morgue. 

Jim had not only been impressed with Molly’s intelligence but also her loyalty, passion for her work, lack of squeamishness, and she was the awkward sort of pretty that his cousin liked. He couldn’t think of anyone else he’d want Seb to be with.

“If you put her in a bad mood…” Sebastian grumbled.

“Then I put her in a bad mood,” Jim retorted. “What-evah. What are you going to do about it?”

“I’ll come up with something.”

“Molly adooooores me,” Jim noted smugly while pulling out his phone and pressing the button for Molly. “Hello, Molly!” he said when she answered. He smirked when he saw Sebastian rolling his eyes. 

Jim started talking about Toby. Molly loved that. They progressed to Glee and argued about the latest episode. Molly loved that even more, even if she lost the argument. Eventually, Jim directed the conversation to Sherlock and led Molly to vent about her former crush and the man’s antics. It was beautiful.

Ten minutes later, Seb put the rifle away. “Tell her I’m going to take a shower.”

“Pause a minute, Molly-cat,” Jim interrupted.

“Yes, is everything all right?” Molly asked worriedly.

“Depends on what level we’re talking about,” Jim said. “But Seb just asked me to tell you that he’s taking a shower.”

“Oh…”

“I assume this excites _you_ more than it ever could _me_,” Jim stated.

“Could you please tell him that he can take a shower here if he wants,” Molly whispered tentatively. “It might save time.”

“No, it won’t!” Jim exclaimed. Molly had no common sense when it came to certain practical matters. “You won’t get anything else done.”

Molly was silent for a moment and Jim had to struggle not to giggle or tease her further. “How is it that you’re related to him?” she finally asked, some annoyance creeped into her voice. “He’s wonderful and nice.”

“He gets his good sides from me,” Jim retorted. “But let’s focus on awful Sherlock again. I know you haven’t told me about today’s idiocy yet but I need to talk to Seb before he leaves.” He smirked. That might get things going. “Is there anything in the past week or so that has jumped out as being odd?”

“Odd? Jimmy, this is Sherlock we’re talking about.”

“I know. How about out of the ordinary?”

“Everything about Sherlock is out of the ordinary,” Molly stated.

“That’s not helpful.”

“You’re not helping me, Jimmy. Give me some direction.”

Jim paused, moved the phone in front of his face, glared at it, then returned to the conversation. “I’m convinced he’s plotting something with Mycroft,” he said. Perhaps telling her the truth would help. Molly was loyal to him above anyone else. “Has he done something that made you scratch your head and think ‘That’s not very Sherly-locks, _at all_!’ in that tone of voice I know you use inside your cute fluffy head.”

Molly gasped, giggled, and then started coughing. “Hold on.” 

“Don’t die.” He heard water running and then the clinking of a glass against metal.

After a bit more coughing, Molly came back to the line. “Sorry, sorry.”

“Go on.”

“There have been weird things here and there lately,” she noted.

“Such as…” Jim prompted.

“Well, he brought me coffee without my asking,” Molly said.

“That’s bizarre,” Jim stated. It was an odd thing for Sherlock to do that as well as for Molly to have noticed. “I mean, anyone else and the answer is obvious. They want something but that usually doesn’t stop Sherlock from being rude and obnoxious.”

“He’s been nicer to John too.”

Jim felt anger course through him at the mention of that name and silently counted to ten. “Well, Johnny boy’s been upset at him lately,” he said. “But we can apply my previous statement on all counts to this one too. Hold on a minute.” Jim quickly started reviewing all the information he’d gotten the past two weeks and added those two bits.

“Did you tell Sebastian he can take a shower here?” Molly interrupted and jarred his thoughts from his analysis. He took a deep breath and forced himself not to scream at her. Sherlock did that and it wasn’t nice. He took another deep breath. “Sorry,” Molly squeaked.

“It’s all right, Molly-cat,” Jim said and hoped that would make her feel better. “Anything else?”

“He gave me two orders for lab supplies this week,” she said. “The first one was the usual Sherlock strangeness but the second one was, I don’t know how to describe it, besides weird, for Sherlock.”

Jim pursed his lips. Lab supplies were not his strength but considering that he had no leads whatsoever, it might be somewhere to start. “Can you send it to me?”

“Sure,” Molly replied. “Is tomorrow okay?”

“No,” Jim said. “Take Seb to the morgue with you. I need it immediately if not five minutes ago.”

“Jimmy…”

Jim rolled his eyes again. He could almost see, hear, and feel Molly’s pouting. Time to redirect, distract, and bribe. “I’ll send him with some bubble bath...”


	2. It's Elementary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim plays the piano, analyzes the data, and reaches certain conclusions that he doesn't like.

**It’s Elementary**

After giving Sebastian instructions to stop at the store to get Molly some strawberry creme bubble bath along with whatever else he was planning and that they had to send him the list before any nonsense started, Jim went to the piano and started playing Liszt. 

He played by memory as he’d never learned to read music. First Liebestraum. That always helped calm his racing thoughts and think things through carefully. Then Piano Concerto No. 2 in A major, which stimulated his mind. He imagined running his fingers through Sherlock’s hair and playing with those perfect curls. That was such a lovely distraction.

“Piano is the backdrop of every beautiful crime,” he murmured as he moved on to Waldesrauschen (Forest Murmurs) from Two Concert Etudes and analysed what he’d learned.

From what Molly said, Sherlock was being _nice_ to his friends for no immediately apparent reason. The only possible conclusion for Sherlock to do that was that he was planning on being even more horrid in the future. But what would Sherlock define or acknowledge as horrid?

Closing his eyes, Jim continued to play and let the conundrum engulf him. Sherlock’s friends put up with a lot on a daily basis. They seemed unable to live without him. Live without him. Leaving. He was planning on abandoning his friends. Opening his eyes, Jim growled under his breath as he imagined losing Sherlock. 

The plan had to be Mycroft’s idea since it had little regard for Sherlock or any of his friends, thereby making Sherlock feel guilty, which would reinforce his desire to be nice. Guilt. One of the few emotions to which Sherlock Holmes would succumb. Jim moved to Piano Concerto No. 1 in E flat major and again lost himself in the flow of the music.

Sherlock didn’t want to abandon his work, his friends, or his life. That was clearly Mycroft’s doing. Jim supposed it might be a teensy bit his fault but Sherlock had thrown him to Mycroft, who had proceeded to hurt him, so Sherlock was inherently responsible for what Jim was about to do. 

Closing his eyes again, he imagined waltzing with Sherlock and then saw the backdrop change from an elegant ballroom to a blazing inferno. “I will dance with you in hell,” he murmured. He switched to Concerto for Piano and Orchestra No. 1 in E flat minor. 

Halfway through the piece, he heard his phone chime. Probably Molly. He finished the piece then played Concerto for Piano and Orchestra No. 2 in A major before getting up to see what she had sent. It was a forwarded email with the invoice from the chemical supplier. 

Jim stared at the list with shock as he read through it. It made no sense. Sherlock wouldn’t need any of those items. The labs at St. Bart’s would already have most of those items in stock. Plus, they were normal items to stock a bare bones basic lab.

Acetic Acid, 1 M, Laboratory Grade, 1 L  
Acetone, Laboratory Grade, 500 mL  
Ammonium Hydroxide, 1 M, Laboratory Grade, 1 L  
Bogen Universal Indicator, Laboratory Grade, 100 mL  
Buffer, pH 4  
Buffer, pH 7  
Buffer, pH 10  
Calcium Carbonate, Laboratory Grade, 500 g  
Calcium Chloride, Granular, Laboratory Grade, 500 g  
Copper Electrodes, Pack of 12  
Copper Sulfate, Pentahydrate, Laboratory Grade, 500 g  
Corn Starch, Powder, Laboratory Grade, 500 g  
Dextrose, Monohydrate, Powder, Laboratory Grade, 500 g  
Ethanol, 70%, Laboratory Grade, 500 mL  
Food Coloring (4 assorted colors)  
Hydrochloric Acid, 1 M, Laboratory Grade, 500 mL  
Hydrochloric Acid, 6 M, Laboratory Grade, 500 mL  
Iodine-Potassium Iodide (IKI) Solution, Laboratory Grade, 500 mL  
Iron (III) Chloride Solution, 1 M, Laboratory Grade, 100 mL  
Iron Filings, 12 oz  
Lemon Juice, 8 oz  
Litmus Blue/Red Test Strips, Pack of 100  
Magnesium, Ribbon, Laboratory Grade, 25 g  
Methanol, Reagent Grade, 500 mL  
pH Test Strips, pH 1-12, 5-ft Roll  
Phenolphthalein, 1% in 95% Alcohol, Laboratory Grade, 500 mL  
Potassium Chloride, ACS Grade, 500 g  
Potassium Hydroxide, 1 M, Laboratory Grade, 500 mL  
Potassium Iodide, Laboratory Grade, 100 g  
2-Propanol, 70%, Laboratory Grade, 500 mL  
Sodium Acetate, Trihydrate, Reagent Grade, 500 g  
Sodium Bicarbonate (baking soda), Laboratory Grade, 2 kg  
Sodium Borate, Decahydrate, Laboratory Grade, 500 g  
Sodium Carbonate, Anhydrous, Reagent Grade, 500 g  
Sodium Chloride, ACS Grade, 500 g  
Sodium Cyanide, Reagent grade, 5 g  
Sodium Hydroxide, 1 M, Laboratory Grade, 500 mL  
Sodium Hydroxide, 3 M, Laboratory Grade, 500 mL  
Sodium Polyacrylate, Snow Polymer, Laboratory Grade, 100 g  
Sulfuric Acid, 1 M, Laboratory Grade, 1 L  
Sulfuric Acid, 3 M, Laboratory Grade, 500 mL  
Zinc, Sheet, 1/32" thick, Laboratory Grade, 6 x 12"

Jim shook his head and made himself a Shirley Temple with five cherries. More cherries helped him think. “Maybe breaking up wasn’t a good idea,” he muttered. “He’s gone unhinged.” He popped a cherry in his mouth and pulled the stem away with some force. “I’m going to miss him.” He stirred his drink and took a sip. “I might still love him, damn that bastard.”

He slowly reread the list. It simply didn’t make sense. The items were what might be needed to start a secondary school lab, not a high-level one that Sherlock used. Even if Mycroft was planning on moving his brother elsewhere, in a location that didn’t have a good forensic lab, Sherlock wouldn’t need _those_ items. If he did, then some lackey would be placed in charge of stocking everything and the items would be mailed to the appropriate location, not Bart’s. Sherlock should not be placing such an order himself, or having Molly place it for him. “Very inefficient, Iceman,” Jim murmured. “I need more tea, dammit!”

After printing the invoice while making himself a mug of mint chocolate chai, Jim sat down at the piano and started playing Totentanz. That was the piece that always expressed his frustration with the universe when he couldn’t solve something _immediately_. By the time he finished and switched to Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2, he was calm again and paused to reread the list. 

Suddenly one item jumped out at him and he gasped. His heart started pounding and he imagined Sherlock, with those perfect curls, sneering at him for not catching it sooner. “That’s bloody brilliant!” he yelled at the list and then texted Seb.

I’ve figured it out!! -JM

He’s trying to kill me!!! -JM

That makes it even. -SM

Molly says hi. -SM

Hi Molly-cat! -JM

No, this is for real. I mean he’s **REALLY** trying to end me. -JM

We’ll talk about it when I get back tomorrow. -SM

He truly wants to off me. :-0 -JM

Stay calm. Don’t go out alone and shoot/knife anyone. Okay? -SM

Can you come home and bring me some ice cream? -JM

Cookie dough. I’m traumatized. He’s really trying to KILL me! -JM

When we’re done… :D -SM

Find a movie that Molly can watch while we work. I’m not done. -SM

Placing the phone down, he started playing the Hungarian March while thinking back on everything that had happened in the past two years. Their dates had been wonderful but then Sherlock had turned him over to Mycroft supposedly because of John. Jim hadn’t really understood what had happened between them but electricity, beatings, waterboarding, and other forms of ‘convincing’ had certainly convinced _him_ that Sherlock was no longer interested. 

Jim had been furious. Angry enough to set up Sherlock’s downfall and ‘death’. But if Jim were truly honest with himself, and playing the piano helped with that quite a bit, a better solution would have to be found quickly. He still loved Sherlock.


	3. The Rooftop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim's encounter with Sherlock on the rooftop of St. Bart's doesn't go according to plan.

**The Rooftop**  
TW: Attempted suicide. New tags have been added. Please read carefully.

Come and play. Bart’s Hospital rooftop. -SH

Jim looked at Sherlock’s text with a mixture of excitement and dismay. “It begins,” he said quietly to himself. There was no one else in the flat. Seb and his best teams were already in position to take out anyone Mycroft might put into play. Two small tactical teams were at St. Barts and Molly had helped sneak his medical team into the hospital as well. Jim also had several agents strategically positioned around London to cause mayhem for cover if needed.

After calling for his driver, Amit, he texted Seb that he was heading to St. Bart’s, drank a cup of his favorite tea, apple oolong with a drop of whiskey in it for good luck, and sent off a quick prayer to the faeries promising them cream and bonbons if they got through this successfully. In the car he reconfirmed with Molly that she and medical were ready for anything, especially poisoning, and then started tapping Bach’s Partita no. 1 on the car door to soothe his nerves. 

Just in case, his Beretta 92FS Inox was at his side. He had no intention of dying on the rooftop even if it meant having to kill Sherlock. Gorgeous hair, eyes, smile, and perspicacious mind be damned. Closing his eyes, Jim imagined running his fingers through those amazing curls and sighed.

“It’ll be fine, sir,” Amit said. “You’re better than he is.” 

Jim looked up to the rearview mirror, nodded, and murmured, “I hope so.”

“Smarter, faster, better planner, and best dressed.”

“Thanks.” Jim liked Amit. The man was competent, loyal, and could actually think on his feet. “Not that Sherly dresses poorly but he does need to put a teensy bit more effort into it.” 

They soon arrived at the hospital and Jim made his way to the rooftop. He took a few moments to memorize the layout and determine where the sightlines to his position were. Bless Sebastian. He’d scoped everything out meticulously; there were none. He sent a text to Seb first.

Rooftop. -JM

Steak dinner tonight. -JM

And then he texted Sherlock.

I’m waiting. -JM

~~

Sherlock stared at the text from Jim. Sighing, he stirred what was left of his coffee and finished it before letting his feet fall off the bench. He stood and walked across the lab while buttoning his jacket.

~~

As soon as Jim saw Sherlock, a cool calm fell over him and he started the music on his phone. He’d selected the perfect BeeGees lyrics.

_I've been kicked around_  
_Since I was born_  
_And now it's alright, it's okay_  
_And you may look the other way_  
_We can try to understand_  
_The New York Times' effect on man_  
_Whether you're a brother or whether you're a mother_  
_You're stayin' alive_...

His focus sharpened. Jim was a consummate actor, a brilliant strategist, and a master of tactics and logistics. There was no way Sherlock, even with Mycroft’s assistance, would outmaneuver him. 

“Here we are at last,” Jim said. “You and me, Sherlock, and our problem. The final problem.” Sherlock stared dispassionately at a spot behind him but Jim noted his rapid breathing, exertion from climbing stairs at a rapid pace and possibly nervousness. The wind perfectly tousled the man’s hair. Focus.

Jim had rehearsed what he would say so many times that it flowed naturally. Sherlock started pacing but Jim, without disrupting his performance, watched him like a hawk and didn’t let him get too close. 

Sherlock was bigger and a trained pugilist. He could easily trap Jim and inject him, poison him, but Jim was ready. He had a panic button and his teams had orders to come to the rooftop if they didn’t receive periodic codes.

They talked about Reichenbach. Sherlock seemed to appreciate the joke. His cheeks were rosy. His breathing was still rapid. Was he apprehensive about murdering Jim? Or did he still harbor some feelings for him? They talked about the code. Jim noted Sherlock was pretending to be surprised. 

Pretending. He guessed that Sherlock had deduced that there was no code. He was obviously trying to get Jim to confess but he had already planned to do so. Sherlock did enjoy Jim’s work as much as he did Sherlock’s. 

Jim noted that Sherlock didn’t seem to be focusing on him though. That was odd. He was still pretending to be confused and struggling to grasp the concepts. Jim continued explaining how he’d committed the crimes.

And then Sherlock walked away to sit on the edge of the raised ledge. That was even odder. He was breathing with more difficulty than before. That was very troubling. Jim stopped and decided to break away from his script.. “What are you doing, Sherly?” he asked. More concern leached into his voice than he wanted.

“Sitting,” Sherlock replied and then drawled, “Are you going to tell me how I’m going to kill myself?”

“Well, I think you’ve figured it out,” Jim noted and, with his hand, pointed to the horizon. “You’re going to jump.” Sherlock slid off the ledge and onto the floor. Jim asked, “Are you going to tell Mycroft to send in his goons to block my getaway?”

Sherlock shook his head and then leaned it backward against the wall. “No, I told Mycroft that I would handle it… handle everything” He was silent for a few moments and that made Jim worry even more. The man was never that quiet around him. 

Shaking his head again, Sherlock spoke slowly as though it was difficult to do so. “No,” he said and looked up at him with admiration. “I expect you to be able to neutralize anyone he’d send. You probably already have.”

“Of course…” Jim agreed but then noted the glaze in Sherlock’s eyes and the pieces fell into place. His mind ran through the list of ingredients and his eyes widened. He gasped audibly. This couldn’t be happening. Sherlock wasn’t going to kill _him_. Never had Jim even remotely imagined _this_ outcome. Sherlock had figured out Jim’s plans and turned the tables. Horrifically.

“I see... you finally got it,” Sherlock whispered weakly but smiled at him affectionately. “Attaboy. I couldn’t beat you. You had too much of a head start. So I’m beating you at your own game.”

“No!” Jim yelled.

“And it’s been a beautiful game,” Sherlock continued softly. His face seemed paler than normal. “You’ll have to kill yourself. Just like you were going to do to me.” 

Grabbing his phone and forcing himself to keep his breathing calm and fingers steady, Jim texted Seb the code to call off the mission and regroup near Bart’s. Sherlock laughed quietly as though he had no strength remaining but then started tapping Bach’s Partita No. 1 with his fingers. “See, I know the code. If you don’t kill yourself... Mycroft will hunt you down and _destroy_ you.”

“No,” Jim whispered in horror. He could see that Sherlock was dying in front of his eyes. He started texting his teams.

“He’ll hunt you down and make every minute of your existence a living hell.” Sherlock smiled lovingly at him. “Just kill yourself. It’ll be easier this way.” Jim shook his head frantically and sent the text even if it wasn’t overly coherent. He started ticking off the symptoms he was seeing. Sherlock whispered sibilantly, “Go on. For me. Please.”

“No!” Jim shrieked. “No, no, no.” This wasn’t what was supposed to happen at all. He and Sherlock were supposed to fake their deaths and start new lives without each other. Or he was supposed to kill Sherlock. Striding forward, he grabbed the man, who didn’t resist, and pulled him toward the door. “You complete idiot!” Jim screamed.

“You destroyed my reputation and my life. I have nothing left. This was the only way to stop you.”

“No! I won’t let you,” Jim growled, ignoring Sherlock’s words. “You’re too brilliant to die and you’re mine. Mine!”

“You can’t stop it,” Sherlock mumbled and then closed his eyes. “It’s too late.”


	4. Intervention, Escalations, and Managed Chaos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim gets Sherlock to medical and fends off Mycroft.

**Intervention, Escalations, and Managed Chaos**

While struggling to get Sherlock’s limp body to the door, Jim called Molly to advise her that there was a cyanide poisoning in progress. Molly shrieked and started fussing at him to forget everything he had planned and get downstairs immediately. Pausing for a moment, Jim casually pointed out that, despite being out of breath, since _he_ was the one calling, then Sherlock was the one who was dying, not him. He heard the phone drop.

“You’ve upset Molly-cat,” Jim shouted at Sherlock and continued trying to drag him closer to the door. Just as he got close, Hendricks, Wagner, and Boyle burst through it. Good. He was better at management than dragging near comatose consulting detectives.

“Yes, Molly has a cat,” Sherlock mumbled. 

“About time, gentlemen!” Jim yelled.

“Tanya.” Sherlock’s head lolled to one side.

“Cyanide poisoning,” Jim explained and then looked at Sherlock. “It’s Toby.”

“Better off without me,” Sherlock whispered.

Jim frowned. “Get him to the operating theatre where medical is waiting. Dr. Hooper and Arnie should be waiting.”

“It’s Tony. The cat...” Sherlock lost consciousness.

“Move it!” Jim ordered and held the door open. He glared at Sherlock as he went past while pushing aside an emotion that felt somewhat like fear. “And no, you doofus! None of us are better off without you!” 

They raced down to the room two floors below where Molly and his medical team were waiting. Molly screamed when she saw Sherlock but then all her panic vanished. A cold, professional demeanor appeared. She and Dr. Thomas Arnott, Jim’s personal surgeon, retired US Navy colonel, immediately started working on Sherlock. 

One of the other medics ushered Jim and the others to a waiting room. Jim looked at everyone sternly for good measure but then sat down. “This is not comfortable,” he growled. “The other team is on guard but no one relaxes.” The others nodded.

“I hate hospitals,” Hendricks stated after a few moments and just as Jim’s phone chimed.

“Anyone have gum?” Wagner asked. “My anxiety, you know.”

“Who do I have to kill?” Jim growled while retrieving his phone. “I need something to do.”

Boyle frowned. “We’ll help,” he said while handing Wagner a piece of gum.

“It’s pink...” Wagner muttered with dismay.

Jim shot them all a disgruntled look and looked at the message. It was from Seb.

Avalanche. w?3RFNL; -SM

“Fabulous!” Jim yelled. His team immediately tensed. “Fucking bastard.” Sherlock was near death and now he had to worry about the Iceman He texted the other team to take positions on the perimeter of the hospital and be on the lookout for government agents. He received another text.

Code Green. kBt%hP32Nb; -SM

Jim grumbled, “Fuck no, I’m not going anywhere. My boyfriend is dy-ing.”

“Does Colonel Moran want us out of here?” Boyle asked. Jim nodded and then glared at him murderously when it looked like he wanted to argue. Hendricks and Wagner remained silent. He texted a reply in Hungarian. With the appropriate code. And then smirked.

A macska rugjion meg! ;UDbbv9p ❤ -JM

“Did you just tell him off?” Wagner asked.

Hendricks nodded. “He looks like he just told him off.”

“I did,” Jim replied and smiled quirkily even though he was feeling angry and aggravated. “And Mycroft Holmes is next.” He started texting.

Piss off. Your brother is dying and I’m trying to save him. -JM

“If Colonel Moran thinks we should leave…” Hendricks said tentatively but Jim shot him a murderous look. “Never mind.” Jim’s phone chimed with another text from Seb followed by one from Mycroft Holmes.

“We are not leaving this situation. I’ve managed worse chaos,” Jim said through gritted teeth but then took another deep breath and ran through his options at the moment. “Go ask Dr. Hooper how he’s doing?” he snapped. Getting trapped in a hospital and having to shoot his way out was suboptimal. On many levels. He texted the other team to have one man in position so that their primary exit to the van that served as their ambulance was cleared.

AVALANCHE911. CODE GREEN. N6TiCPxrz; -SM

Explain. -MH

He chose to reply to Seb first.

Are you within 5km of the hospital? -JM

Affirmative. c/z2WsDX; -SM

5 km cordon. 2hwQYcik}x; -JM

wilco. fKJ9bW; -SM

That should slow the Iceman down. If Seb’s teams could disable all government vehicles in a five kilometer radius of the hospital, that would buy them some time. His team on the hospital grounds should be able to take care of any that might already be close. Taking another deep breath, he texted Mycroft Holmes.

Your brother tried to kill himself. -JM

Doubtful. -MH

I’m trying to save him, you pompous, overstuffed penguin. -JM

If you interfere, you jeopardize *him*!! -JM

And if it’s him or me, it’s him. So BACK OFF! -JM

A likely story. -MH

Jim glared at the last text and then texted Seb. If the Iceman wanted to play hardball, so could he.

whiskey-alfa-foxtrot Bv&HqN%5gh; -JM

Jim quickly activated two of his agents in London. A water main break in south London would be a grand start followed by pandemonium in the shopping districts.

Think of Sherly as my hostage then and go have some pudding. -JM

Also, Herne Hill might need some assistance. -JM

You like to micromanage. -JM

And maybe Westfield. -JM

Harrods too. -JM

Let me know when I can stop. -JM

After the last text, he leaned his head back and tried to calm down. Even thinking of Mycroft Holmes caused severe anxiety. “Why are you two related?” he muttered under his breath. “He has stupid hair.”

“Sir?” Hendricks said while leaving the operating theatre.

“Yes, how is he?” Jim asked while silently promising himself that if Sherlock wasn’t better Covent Garden would be next.

“Simmons and Lombardi are doing CPR,” Hendricks said and then shuddered at the murderous look that crossed Jim’s face. “But both Arnie and Doc Hooper said they pushed a bunch of meds into him. They gave me the names but I didn’t follow them. She said to tell you his pH is 6.79 and his bicarb is 8 and she’ll send the labs as soon as she has a minute.”

“Thank you,” Jim said quietly while silently cheering Molly at the top of his lungs. He’d send her Sebastian gift wrapped in leather, with chocolate-covered strawberries, and a bottle of champagne next time.

“Do you want me to get you something to drink?” Wagner asked.

Jim nodded. “See if you can find some bottled water,” he said and then added, even though he knew he didn’t need to, “Take someone with you. We’re not out of danger.”

“Of course, sir,” Wagner replied. As they left, his phone beeped. It was the lab results from Molly that confirmed the numbers Hendricks had just rattled off. Without a computer, Jim couldn’t quite interpret them beyond _not good_. 

Closing his eyes for a moment, he reviewed the cyanide poisoning protocols. The treatment worked every time as long as it was given within a very short window after ingestion. Jim had no idea when Sherlock had taken the toxin. Opening his eyes, he sent Mycroft Holmes the results and hoped that would keep the man from adding to things that needed his immediate attention.

“You were supposed to have a fantastic plan,” Jim whispered leaning his head back and staring at the ceiling. He needed another Shirley Temple with triple the cherries. “Not this. Vacation in Tahiti, yes. Detective agency in Rome, better. Plenty of crime in Italy. This? No! No, no, no! Not this, Sherlock.” Not knowing what to do, he texted Mycroft even though he knew the man could probably interpret the labs adequately.

His ABG shows metabolic acidosis. -JM

He’s currently in arrest. Docs are working on him. -JM

It took a few minutes for Jim to get a reply.

May I send the government’s best? -MH

NO! -JM

Stay away. Do I need to distract you with more fun?! -JM

No, you’ve done quite enough. -MH

Please take care of my brother. -MH

Seeing the last text, Jim closed his eyes once more and sighed. No matter how much he despised Mycroft Holmes, he knew the man cared deeply for his younger brother. Maybe he realized how much Jim did as well?

I will. -JM


	5. Everyone Needs a Little Patience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock wakes up the day after the rooftop and he and Jim talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted early for fabricdragon who is dealing with an icky deadline.
> 
> TW: discussion of suicide

**Everyone Needs a Little Patience**

“Here,” Sebastian said dryly and handed Jim a cup of tea. “I made you _cherry almond_.”

Jim glared at him but took the tea. “Funny,” he grumbled and took a sip. He was in the guest bedroom of his flat in Fitzrovia sitting next to Sherlock who was still unconscious with an IV running, but at least he was alive. Once he’d been out of imminent danger, they had transferred him there. Jim was thankful that Mycroft hadn’t interefered. He’d chosen this particular flat because, even though he was rather fond of it, both Holmes brothers already knew of its existence and it wouldn’t be a great loss if he’d have to evacuate. Nothing work related was kept there.

“I guessed you’d appreciate it,” Seb said, smiling lopsidedly and then yawned. “I’m off to Molly’s. Fuck like minks. Make toaster pastries. Make sure she’s okay and all.”

“Or about as okay as she’s going to be for a while after this.”

“Yeah,” Seb agreed. “You’ve got Kian’s team for the next ten.” 

Yawning, Jim waved Seb off. “Go. Have fun. Keep it legal.” Neither of them had slept since the previous evening and Jim wasn’t planning on doing so until all his teams were rested and back on a semblance of a proper schedule and Sherlock awakened. “Give Molly a hug for me.” Seb nodded and left.

The smell of something delicious wafted into the bedroom. Jim made a face even though he knew he should eat. Georgiana, one of the snipers who was currently not on duty rotation, was also an accomplished chef, a fact that was useful in certain circumstances. She frequently insisted on feeding Jim. “At least it’ll be good,” he mumbled absentmindedly. “Unlike the slop Seb makes.” He sipped his tea and watched Sherlock’s breathing. It was rather hypnotic. Curse him.

~~

The chime from his phone woke him up an instant before Kate flung the door open and yelled, “Boss, trouble coming.” Jim was instantly alert. She handed him a warm cup of tea. “Mycroft Holmes and two guards approaching the building.”

Frowning, Jim looked at his phone: texts from the Iceman. Bother.

I’m coming up to see my brother. -MH

I hope you have tea. -MH

“Fuck,” Jim muttered and then looked at Kate. She seemed ready to rip someone to shreds- he adored her. “Don’t shoot him. Yet. I assume Davey-do has him sighted.” She nodded. Dave Wallace was the sniper on duty and Kate’s current lover. “The Iceman is such a fucking prick. Make sure the entrances are covered.” She nodded curtly and left, closing the door behind her. “No blood on the carpet,” he shouted after her.

“He is,” a rough, scratchy voice said. Swinging his head around, Jim saw Sherlock looking at him with half-open eyes. “Tell him to sod off.”

“I will.” Leaning forward, Jim caressed the side of Sherlock’s face and played with a wayward lock of hair before leaning back. “How are you feeling?”

“Like a lorry hit me,” Sherlock answered. 

“Hold on. Let me get rid of him.” Jim started texting Mycroft.

No. -JM

I would like to see my brother and ascertain that he is well. -MH

He’s still unconscious and he’s as WELL as can be expected. -JM

I must insist. -MH

Not negotiable. -JM

Jim looked up. “He’s being a pain in the arse.”

Neither one of us wants a gunfight right now. -JM

Find an all night place and indulge for a bit. -JM

Because he did feel just a teensy bit sorry for Mycroft, he sent one more. 

He’s stable. I’ll text you when I have an update. -JM

You have one hour, maximum. Make tea. -MH

“Why do I even bother?!” Jim growled at his phone.

“He’s impossible,” Sherlock whispered roughly.

“Runs in the family, Sherly,” Jim teased but then his expression turned serious. “Mycroft said he’s stopping by in an hour.” Sherlock groaned. “I honestly can’t blame him. I told him the truth and forced him to back off. I wasn’t even all that nice about it. I’m sure because he’s the fucking British government, he found a way to verify some things from yesterday but he has no idea if you’re alive and well or if I’ve flayed every inch of your skin like you deserve.”

Sherlock winced and remained silent, staring at the ceiling, while Jim sipped his tea. Eventually Sherlock asked, “What happened?”

Jim arched an eyebrow. “I assume you mean after the rooftop.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t even know where to start,” Jim said, sighing softly. The stress, anxiety, and worry of the past few days bled out of him but left him empty. And angry. “Why?” he asked. “Just why? Give me a teensy little reason that makes sense.” Jim had thought about everything that had happened and had not been able to come up with a reason that was logical to him. “Wait. Let me get you something to drink. Your throat must feel awful.”

Sherlock nodded so Jim texted Georgiana to bring some room temperature water. She appeared in less than a minute sporting her rifle and a glass with one of Jim’s spiral straws with a dinosaur on top. He thanked her and she left.

Sherlock snickered but then his eyes widened as he tried to move his hands to take the glass and he couldn’t because his wrists were bound to the side of the bed. “Nope, sweetheart,” Jim said. “Conversation first.”

“Do you have something other than water?”

“No, well, yes, but you can’t have any,” Jim replied. “Alcohol and caffeine are no-no’s after intubation. And I’m not releasing your arms because it’s just so much sexier when you stay alive.” Sherlock pursed his lips but Jim blew him a kiss.

“So, what happened?” Sherlock pressed.

“You threatened me. With Mycroft, of all things,” Jim stated and brought the straw to Sherlock’s lips. “Remember that?” Sherlock nodded. “And then the cyanide started working.” Sherlock nodded again. “I was actually ready for cyanide or any sort of poisoning because Molly sent me the second supply order that you’d given her. She thought it was strange that you placed two in one week. When I asked her about any odd behaviors, she sent me the receipt.”

“I tried to disguise it.”

“In an order for a secondary school lab start-up?! Sheesh, Sherlock! How ordinary!” Jim exclaimed. He felt anger trying to leach out and forced it down. “Maybe Molly wasn’t going to call you on it but what do you think Mycroft was going to do when he saw it? What did you think I was going to think?” Sherlock closed his eyes but Jim continued, “I spent days panicking that you were going to inject _me_ with cyanide and I was going to die a horrible death suffocating.”

Jim gave him another sip. “Thank you,” Sherlock murmured. “The straw is... very you.”

“I’m _fun_ and _not_ boooooring.”

“I never thought you were.” Sherlock smiled sadly at him. “Go on.”

“So, I was ready for cyanide,” Jim said “I wasn’t ready for it to be _you_ instead of _me_.” Sherlock looked away. Even though it was getting harder, Jim forced himself not to lash out at the man that he loved. “I got you down to Molly and my med team,” he continued. “Initially you were in sinus bradycardia but then you boxed and CPR had to be initiated. That’s why you hurt. Humans pounding on your chest.”

“Yes.”

“You were given epinephrine and atropine and your heart started beating again fairly quickly.”

Sherlock sighed and looked into Jim’s eyes questioningly. “Why did you bother?”

Jim’s control slipped for just an instant. “Lots of reasons! Lots. Of. Them. Okay?!” Sherlock winced and then shuddered. 

Jim took a deep breath and took a sip of his tea. “Sorry,” he mumbled and then decided to admit some weakness. “I’m trying to make it look good but I’m not okay. This hurt me.” Sherlock looked like tears were welling up in his eyes. 

Looking away, Jim sipped his tea until he felt that he could continue without emotion. “The rest was fairly easy. They gave you sodium nitrite and sodium thiosulfate. Standard treatment. You regained consciousness within ten minutes and could follow commands but you were a mess so they gave you a magical combination of tranquilizers and other stuff so that you could rest but you wouldn’t die again.”

“I don’t remember.”

“That was sort of the point,” Jim said. “It wasn’t pretty. Molly-cat was shattered.”

“She was in charge?” Sherlock asked.

“She and Arnie, my personal surgeon.”

Sherlock sighed. “I never meant to hurt her.”

Jim wanted to scream: how could Sherlock think his actions wouldn’t hurt others? He refrained and took a sip of tea instead. “Why?” He finally asked and gave Sherlock some more water. “Why this? Why die horribly and do this to people who care about you?”

Sherlock looked away and tears started edging out of his eyes. “I told you,” he whispered with a hoarse voice. “It was the only way that I could stop you.”

That statement caused all the anger and frustration that Jim had been suppressing to pour out violently. “No!” he screamed. “No! Just no! That’s the biggest bunch of bollocks I’ve heard since my Mam said she loved me.” Sherlock started trembling. “Don’t lie to me! After what you did!” Jim downed his tea him and rose. “I’m going to get myself another cuppa and you figure out how to tell me the truth.” He stormed out of the room.


	6. Reconciliation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim and Sherlock finally talk about what happened.

**Reconciliation**

After calming down with another cup of tea, Jim made himself a Shirley Temple with four cherries, noted that he had forty-five minutes left before the Iceman was due to arrive, and marched back into the guest room. Seeing the tears slowly sliding down Sherlock’s cheeks, he immediately felt horrible and reminded himself that, right now, Sherlock needed his help not his anger. “Sorry,” he whispered while shutting the door. “That was a bit not helpful.”

Sherlock tried to blink away the tears but then turned his head so Jim couldn’t see his face.

“Talk to me,” Jim said and sat down. “Just tell me the truth. Don’t feed me any lies unless you have no respect for me.”

“No,” Sherlock said half into his pillow. “No, I would never.”

“Then don’t lie to me.”

“Would you believe me if I said I don’t know?”

“No, not really.”

“Part of me doesn’t really know,” Sherlock said while looking back at Jim. “It’s all fragmented and doesn’t make sense. It felt like I was living in a dream.”

“Tell me,” Jim said gently and then popped a cherry in his mouth. “It doesn’t matter if it doesn’t make sense. We can sort it later.”

Sherlock nodded. “An easy conclusion is that nothing in my life was working.”

“Nothing was working?” Jim repeated questioningly. He thought Sherlock’s life was damn near perfect.

“Nothing,” Sherlock whispered almost inaudibly. “I’m a failure.”

Jim’s eyes widened with shock. “Why do you say that?” he blurted out. It seemed inconceivable that Sherlock didn’t see himself as the brilliant and utterly amazing detective that he was.

“John hates me.”

Jim frowned. As far as he was concerned that wasn’t necessarily all that bad. Pointing that out to Sherlock, however, might not be a good idea. “Really?” he said. “I’m rather convinced he worships the ground you walk on and, if needed, he’d shoot another cabbie for you.”

Sherlock chuckled but then shook his head. “I just wanted a friend,” he said. “I’ve never really had one and, obviously, I ruined it.”

Jim refrained from saying that ruining _that_ was also not necessarily bad. The doctor was nothing but a bad influence. At least Sherlock was talking. Jim pressed, “How did you ruin it?”

“Drugs, the cases, ruining his relationships, I drugged him on a case as an experiment, but he didn’t see it that way,” Sherlock listed everything clinically but Jim heard the guilt underneath the stoicism. _Guilt_. “Not trusting him, not listening to his prattle when it’s obviously important to him… not... not knowing what he needs from me. Not being a good friend.”

“Watson?” Jim scoffed and shook his head.

“He’s just better off without me.”

“That man is a lunatic. He makes me look sane and he adores you,” Jim stated. Sherlock closed his eyes. “I’m not kidding, Sherly, he loves your...” Jim paused to phrase what he was about to say gently. Telling the man that he was a bit off kilter might not be helpful. “He’s an adrenaline junkie. He’s also one of those caring support types. I’ve got a few myself. Much as I hate to admit it, you two are good for each other. _And_ he needs you the way you are. He doesn’t need plebeian. The man was a lost cause before you pulled him out of endless ennui.”

“I failed him and Mycroft and everyone.”

Jim gave Sherlock another sip of water because he needed a few moments to think. This seemed unbelievable from Sherlock. Sensing that Sherlock was sinking into despair again, he decided to change the topic slightly. “You didn’t fail him even if it feels like that. We’ll talk about the others shortly. I need to bring up something else,” he said. Sherlock groaned but Jim continued, “Your lab results did show that you’ve been using. How long has it been?”

“Months…” Sherlock whispered and again looked away.

“You know, that may explain why some things fall right into place and other things are all jumbled and seem like a dream. Drugs alter your judgment even when you’re not high,” Jim said. “Look at me.” He waited until Sherlock turned his head again. “We’re going to fight this, starting now. Okay?”

“No.”

“Otherwise I get to kill you _my way_ and you won’t like it.”

Sherlock shot him a quirky half-smile. “I’m sure you’ll be creative.”

“Always.”

“I expect the best from you.”

“It will be, just for you, and it won’t be boring.” Jim batted his eyelashes flirtatiously. Sherlock seemed marginally improved. Maybe Jim should threaten to kill him more frequently. “But go on. You said that it was all fragmented implying that there’s more.”

“_You_ hate me,” Sherlock stated but then continued quickly before Jim could argue. “Mycroft hates me. Molly hates me. Everyone at the Yard hates me. Even George hates me. Everyone I interact with ends up hating me. I’ve let everyone down. I’ve failed them.” 

The word _failure_ echoed in Jim’s mind. “Greg,” he murmured as he pondered the significance of that.

“Who?”

Jim giggled. “Lestrade.”

“Ah.”

“Why do you think we all hate you?” Jim asked.

“It’s obvious,” Sherlock sniffed as though Jim should know that.

Jim closed his eyes, counted to six, then opened them again, and ate another cherry. “These are good and that seems very absolute,” he muttered. “It doesn’t have much wiggle room, darling.”

“It’s true.”

“No. There’s no nuance, Sherlock. I don’t hate you. I was seriously cranky and peeved but that’s not hate.”

“And I failed you,” Sherlock insisted. Jim again noted the repeated use of that word. “The one person who didn’t judge me or expect anything. You. I failed you on so many levels. And then Mycroft. I’ve been using him my entire life. He doesn’t expect anything beyond reasonable behavior and success.”

“Holmes and everything.”

“Yes.” Sherlock sighed and leaned his head back. “Can you release my hands and may I please have some tea?”

“Promise me you won’t do anything,” Jim said. Sherlock nodded so Jim texted Kate to bring some tea before releasing Sherlock’s wrists and helping him sit up.

“I’ve always manipulated and used Mycroft to get what I wanted and to make him get me out of trouble,” Sherlock said, gently rubbing his wrists. “He’s never failed me but I fail him every minute of my life.”

“That’s a bit extreme, Sherly,” Jim noted while his mind raced to put the pieces together. Failure and guilt. Sherlock didn’t know how to handle those emotions. Unchecked, they were a deadly combination to any person. To a Holmes or someone with that level of mental capacity, they were lethal. “Can we change it to you don’t meet some ridiculous family expectations that Mycroft sets?”

Sherlock smiled but then his expression turned serious. “No.”

“You know I’m right.”

“It doesn’t feel that way though.”

“I know,” Jim said. “But we just need some time to work through all this and pull apart those feelings. You’re the most brilliant person I know, after me, of course.”

“So modest.”

“Thank you.”

Sherlock shook his head. “There’s all the others too. I’ve used, abused, and failed, each and every person in my life and-” He paused when Kate entered the room holding a mug of tea and her rifle. “Nice.”

“I made sure it wasn’t too hot,” Kate said and smiled sweetly as she handed Sherlock the tea.

“Don’t let her fool you,” Jim said. “She’s a perfect shot.”

“I wouldn’t have thought otherwise,” Sherlock said dryly.

“No,” Jim said. “Thank you, Kate.” She nodded and left.

“Welsh, former SAS, did some military work in the US, artist, favorite color teal, has two cats and a bird, and enjoys gardening.”

“There’s my brilliant boy,” Jim said and smiled lovingly at Sherlock.

Shaking his head, Sherlock said. “I’ve destroyed the lives of everyone that I…” He trailed off and it looked like tears were about to fall from his eyes again.

Jim heard the unspoken _care for_ that Sherlock had been unable to utter. “You feel guilty for failing and for failing others.” Sherlock looked away and took a sip of tea.

Jim sighed and then popped another cherry into his mouth. They were certainly making progress but he didn’t like how extreme and negative Sherlock’s rationale was. “Do you know what my favorite dessert is?” he asked.

“Of course,” Sherlock said smugly. “It’s blatant. Anything with apples.”

“Easy-peasy,” Jim retorted. “But what do I like with them?”

Sherlock smirked. “You’ll take ice cream, but _à la mode_ is generally too boring for you,” he said. “You prefer double cream or crème fraîche.”

Jim ran his fingers through Sherlock’s hair. “Well done,” he said. “But what else?”

“Butter,” Sherlock proclaimed. “You love butter on everything including your apple desserts.” Jim nodded. “And based on the fact that you asked me that question, I’m going to conclude that there is a truly unique one.” 

“Clever. Yes, there is,” Jim admitted.

“You have a lot of international contacts so anything foreign and unique, you’ll try once,” Sherlock continued. “I won’t bore you with the list but the oddest one is the way some Yanks like it. With cheddar.”

Leaning forward, Jim kissed the side of his face. “No one, and I mean _no one_, not even my chief sniper and best friend knows that.”

“Is this blackmail material?” Sherlock asked coyly.

“No. I’d sulk if you told people but that’s about it,” Jim said and then inspiration struck. “I’m willing to make a deal with you.” Sherlock eyed him suspiciously. “I’ll accept a trip to New England and a shared piece or three of apple pie with cheddar as remuneration if that will make you feel better.”

“It won’t.”

“But will you take me?”

“If I must,” Sherlock replied. 

Jim nodded. A trip stateside would buy him some time to help Sherlock start to work through some of these negative and destructive ideas. “You must,” he said solemnly. “It can be the trial run for our honeymoon.”

“I…” Sherlock murmured and then turned away again.

Jim finished his drink then scooted on the bed next to the detective. Sherlock turned into him. “I can’t fix it all at once,” Jim said. “And I can’t stop you if you really want to end it but I can tell you that it’s not really as bad as it feels.” Sherlock looked at him with watery eyes. “I think the drugs have skewed your judgment a teensy weensy bit and all those emotions made you sort of implode, emotionally, like a Type II supernova.”

“Does that have to do with the solar system?” Sherlock asked sweetly but then smirked.

“Astronomy, you cheeky monster,” Jim grumbled. Sherlock kissed the side of his face and Jim felt his heart soar. “I think it’s not as simple as what I just said. But… we can pick apart all your behaviors and everything that you did and didn’t do and there will be things that you did wrong and things that you did right and some things that were out of your control.”

“I could have stopped all of it and I didn’t,” Sherlock countered.

“Drama, honey,” Jim quipped. “You may have started things but people like me and your brother certainly have our share in responsibility and accountability. I’m sure that in every situation, there’s a quantum dynamic going on with the other person. It’s not just your failures.”

“Astronomy.”

“Yes.”

Sherlock sighed. “It feels like a dream.”

“I know.”

“Or a nightmare.”

“But you’re awake now,” Jim said and stared pensively. “Can I ask you a question?” Sherlock nodded. “Do you still like me? Am I still your boyfriend?”

Sherlock smiled. “I didn’t think you wanted me anymore,” he said. “After Mycroft and everything that’s happened.”

“I’m still in love with your hair,” Jim teased.

“I’m glad I have _one_ redeeming quality.”

“Take what you can get, honey.” Jim chuckled. “No, I happen to love all of you, Sherlock Holmes,” he said. “Promise me that you’ll let me help you get through this. Promise me you’ll talk to me about what’s going on before doing anything.”

“You’re insane.”

“That’s one of _my_ redeeming qualities,” Jim said. “Promise me. I’ll let you go if I have to, if it doesn’t work out, but promise me that you’ll talk to me when things get overwhelming and it feels like you have no other options.”

“Do you really want me?”

“I want to run my fingers through your hair, doofus.”

Sherlock smiled genuinely and let his head fall on Jim’s shoulder. “Promise.”

_The End_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. It wasn't easy to write due to the subject material. I'm not quite sure how it evolved from the prompt of hair but I hope you enjoyed the story.


End file.
